


feelings (or lack thereof)

by choirboyharem



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Drunk Sex, Episode: s06e07 Who Got Dee Pregnant, F/M, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-31 01:03:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17839442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/choirboyharem/pseuds/choirboyharem
Summary: Dee didn’t lie when she was talking about the baby thing. She also didn’t lie about the ‘taking Dennis to the back room’ thing, either. Not all the way. Not really.





	feelings (or lack thereof)

**Author's Note:**

> i thought it was weird that i haven’t written anything of these two yet, especially because i watch this stupid fucking show every single day and i really like dysfunctional twincest. set during the brownout halloween party.

“I knew you’d come around, baby,” Charlie slurs, and, well, fuck, that’s not Charlie. That’s Dennis. 

That’s Dennis who’s crowding Dee’s space, slurring and full of enough alcohol to kill a horse, his leg pressed between Dee’s legs and his breath against her face. It’s Dennis’s dick jammed against her thigh, trapped under layers of shitty costume fabric. 

Dee can’t try to be sexy and it isn’t even her fucking fault, because it really never is; it’s Dennis and Charlie’s fault because the assholes switched costumes. They forced her to drag Dennis to the office. 

It isn’t Dee’s fault Dennis is grinding against her hips and kissing her neck. Or that she’s having a miniature, private panic attack, wanting to scream, her stomach and chest contracting because she’s letting him do it, because her head is snowing and it’s going to fall off her shoulders because she’s so heavy and weighed down with a hundred different mixed drinks or just straight-up vodka and whiskey and probably fucking paint thinner, considering how useless and wobbly she feels. 

She’s letting him do it. It’s sick, sick sick sick, because Dee’s heart is pounding in her chest with a twisted, disgusting excitement with the passing thought that one of the guys are into her and doesn’t even know it. She can be sexy. She's sexier than that slut she swapped costumes with. She’s sexier than any of the women Dennis has dated or kidnapped or molested. They like her, because she’s Sweet Dee Reynolds and she’s funny and she’s hot and she’s talented. She’s the sexiest woman who’s ever stepped foot in this bar. 

So she’s letting Dennis mumble total, utter garbage nonsense to her, garbles of swearing and backhanded compliments as he slides his hand up her skirt. Dee makes a hitched, breathy noise that rises to a whimper, her fingers clutching the folds of his costume as he pushes her panties aside and slips his fingers through her folds. 

“So wet, baby girl,” Dennis drawls, sounding fucking ridiculous, but it does this weird, awful thing to Dee where she almost bites clean through her bottom lip. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you real good.”

Which, okay, Dee’s brain cells aren’t at least halfway numerous enough to work through the levels of your brother fucking you while he calls himself “Daddy” right now, but it’s enough to make the guilt turn her insides upside down because it’s hot and Dee is riding Dennis’s fingers. Her eyes flutter back open from behind her mask and, even though the emotional battery acid is eating her, she realizes she has an excuse because she can’t see Dennis’s face. He’s wearing Charlie’s costume. He’s wearing a mask that totally obscures him. How was Dee even supposed to know?

Dennis curls his fingers inside her, does it just right and Dee gasps, fingernails digging into his back through the fabric. She can see the satisfaction in the curve of his mouth, the piece of shit, secure in the fact that he’s every woman’s dream lay. Piece of shit. He does it again and Dee has to tip her head back and moan, finding it harder and harder to think. 

Dennis doesn’t spend enough time on it, because he’s actually a horrible lay and he hates women. It’s all about him. It’s always about him. It was always about him when he practiced kissing on her and kissed Heather Biederman in front of her during recess. It was always about him when he made her act out skits with him to help perfect what she realizes now was the prototype to the D.E.N.N.I.S. System. Dee is so busy being horribly turned on and angry and bitter that she doesn’t realize when she hears Dennis bitching about the costume’s restrictions that he’s pulling his cock out. So he can fuck her. With his penis. 

Dee’s head hits the wall as she swallows. She’ll be the only one who’ll know and Dennis will get everything he wants. Just like always. Because he’s stupid fucking Dennis and even when he’s not trying to actively hurt her, ruin her, break her apart, he does it anyway. And that’s the fault of whoever’s in charge of the stupid fucking universe because it and everything and everyone else hates stupid fucking Dee even if she is sexy and everyone loves her, including Dennis. She doesn’t understand the balance and she’s too shitfaced to go through the levels. 

Dennis’s dick isn’t nearly as big as he wants everyone to know it is, but it’s bigger than Dee thought it was. He spits on his palm, slicks himself up because Dee isn’t loose or wet enough, and grabs her leg to hitch it up over his own hip. Dee whines and turns her head, her hot cheek against the cold wall, more vulnerable than she’s ever felt in her life. He pushes into her, his fingers pressing into the soft flesh of her thigh.

 _Dennis_ _is_ _fucking_ _her_. Dee’s hand presses like a vice against her mouth as he begins to move, rolling his hips. If she gives anything away, she’ll die. The stretch still burns a little, aching when he pulls, but her body won’t let her care about any of it. She’s getting manhandled, fucked against a wall like a blacked-out nineteen-year-old whore in a frat house. And it feels good. Dee is nineteen again. Dee is a sexy college gal, fucking a guy she won’t have to remember the name of the next day. 

Once her body gets used to it, Dee can forget about the lack of foreplay and attention, because she’s being held, fucked, _loved_ , appreciated. Dennis pulls the front of her dress so he can expose her chest and encircle and tweak her nipples. 

“Fuckin’ flat-ass bitch,” Dennis mutters as Dee lets a choked moan escape. “One star. No breasts. E-expected—fucker—more from you.” 

Fuck him. Dee wants to scratch his eyes out, but first, she doesn’t want this to ever stop. As drunk and sloppy as Dennis is, he’s still Dennis and he still knows how to make this part good enough to make a girl not write him off as a hideous sociopath who’s also bad at sex. Her hips jerk and she pants, her fingernails dragging down. 

Dennis makes a throaty, gasping noise when he comes, dragged from a roar in his chest. It’s inside her and that? Why is that hot? Dee’s whole body shudders and she clings to him, hugging him the way she hasn’t since they were three and they were both scared of thunderstorms and their mother had told them to grow up.

“Dennis,” she sobs, her face in the crook of his neck, and Dennis freezes. Dee’s shaking too badly for her body to paralyze with anxiety, which is both good and bad. Mostly bad. It’s all bad. 

”Dee?” Dennis whispers near her ear. Dee falls through and feels an icy, burning heat of embarrassment and fear rolling down her spine. 

“Youm done have tiss, Dee,” Dennis manages before the feelings, reality, and gravity all hit him like a train during rush hour in a tunnel and his weakened knees give out. Dee shrieks as they crash. She lands on top of him and saliva bursts out of his mouth and runs down his cheek, the mask knocked sideways. Dennis looks like pure, hot shit, destined for a massive hangover with Dee not too far behind. 

Dee carefully pulls herself up and away, looking down at Dennis’s sprawled form, her legs trembling, her dress in disarray. She can’t undo that. She’ll never be able to undo that, but he probably won’t remember. He’ll never remember. It’ll be normal again in a few hours, maybe. Maybe not even that. 

It still just proves she’s sexy enough for him. Them. All of them. 

Dee sniffs and messily pulls her dress back up over her chest, flinging her skirt back down before she click-clacks her way back out of the office. She lets Dennis’s cock lay like a limp fish on top of his robes and maybe she leaves the door open. Just a little. 

She’s going to kick Charlie’s ass for switching costumes. 


End file.
